


A Thousand Words

by SuchFun_AreWe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But it IS Dean we're talking about here soooo.., Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not actually kinky though, One Shot, Praise Kink, just sorta sweet?, not a lot of angst really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchFun_AreWe/pseuds/SuchFun_AreWe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this one stolen moment, Dean finds it in him to accept the gift Cas keeps trying to bestow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Words

It is silent save for the soft pound of raindrops on the hotel roof overhead and the quiet flow of water streaking down the window panes. The room is filled with drowsy, filtered storm light that brushes gently over skin and makes all the shadows in the room look like watercolor washes of faint blue gray.

Dean is coming undone under Cas’ hands, melting at the touches of his mouth. He is unraveling under the long, cool fingers that brush his skin and the blue, blue eyes that look down upon him as if he’s still a surprise. As if he’s something too wonderful to actually be real. Someone valuable, treasured… loved.

The hunter has to close his eyes, hide from the warm regard in his angel’s gaze. Fear rushes in, chilling him and the hunter loses the lazy, boneless peace of only moments before. Self loathing and self doubt have made his body thrum like a wire, suddenly tense under the strokes of Cas’ graceful fingertips.

Cas frowns, pausing in his ministrations. _Oh Dean._ He cards his hands through the hunter’s hair, sliding down the curve of his skull to rest in the hollow at the nape of his neck. Cas leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s mouth, his temples, the pulse points at his throat. He takes Dean’s hands in his own and laces their fingers together, pulling the hunter’s hands over his head and gently holding them there. He presses them into the pillows, silently asking that Dean not move them, and then slides the flats of his palms down the man’s wrists, over the thin and tender skin on the undersides of his forearms and biceps.

His hands glide reverent over skin, his lips following and pressing devotions into Dean’s pores. Cas breathes words of love into every inch of the man beneath him. He murmurs in Enochian, in Latin, in French, in a thousand different languages … ancient and modern, dead tongues, lost dialects, and languages so new humanity had yet to hear them spoken aloud. A myriad of rumbled sounds and all of them saying the same things: Beloved. Precious. Worthy. Poetry comprised of tenderness, whispered over Dean’s skin, warm and sweet.

Dean doesn’t understand, the sounds ring foreign and meaningless in his ears. Still, he feels the heat of them press into his flesh, filling up the hollow spaces he tries so hard to hide with sarcasm and bluster and anger. The strength of Cas’ emotions rush over him in waves, crashing into him and rendering him breathless and overwhelmed.

Cas pours worshipful words into Dean’s skin, pushes them into him with the soft pressure of lips and the warm, wet drag of his tongue. Cas gives him his heart in whispered syllables delicately mouthed into flesh. Dean cannot contain it, the force rends him open, pours from his eyes and traces down the lines of his jaw - trickling to his ears and into the pillows beneath his head. His body weeps as his heart overflows, filled to bursting.

Eventually the silent tears slow and then stop completely. Dean is relaxed and languid once more, all poison and loathing wrung out. He opens his eyes, lashes still wet and dark, and gazes up into Cas’ face, smiling.

His world has narrowed until it is nothing but the muffled thrum of rain on the roof, the soft storm silver light in Cas’ hair, the steady blue of his eyes, the graceful hand resting warm upon Dean’s heart, the rough cadence of Cas’ voice continuing to chant barely audible reverences into the hushed air of the room. In this one stolen moment, Dean finds it in him to accept the gift Cas keeps trying to bestow.

Dean comes undone, safe in the cathedral of Cas’ arms.


End file.
